


Ignis Aurum Probat

by TheDweeb



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Mild Blood, Military Ranks, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, congrats on the new kitten Val
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 12:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDweeb/pseuds/TheDweeb
Summary: Most men thought it was the fires of battle that would test a man's strength to its fullest. Valtristus had seen much fighting and knew they were wrong. It was what a man did when faced with difficult choices that determined the strength  of a man, and he could only hope he would not be found wanting.





	Ignis Aurum Probat

**Author's Note:**

> Be prepared for some Italian and, like, one (1) Latin phrase, and accept my sincere apologies if they are incorrect. I did my best ;A; Also, this takes place in the same Shard AU as the In Another World series where miqo'te physiology does have some major differences (depending on if you subscribe strictly to canon or have your own unique headcanons).

The laughter rang out clear as a bell. He should not have heard it, not over the din of the castellum; a work in progress as they reinforced the existing bridge that spanned across the canyon just so the building _could_ be erected. That he had should also have meant very little beyond soldiers earning a reprimand for shirking duties. What he found, however, far exceeded his expectations and not in a good way.

“ _Attenzione_!” 

At the call from his optio, the three soldiers immediately turned and stood at attention. Valtristus quo Menauce was not the worst commanding officer to have, but he did demand high levels of discipline and respect from those in his cohort. That he was more than willing to fight on the front lines and protect his soldiers more than earned him that, but there would always be men who thought they could not give their best. Those were quickly weeded out of his troop and either shuffled off to a more patient centurio or discharged. There were even rumors that some soldiers disappeared under his command, never to be heard from again. Whether there was any truth to those rumors was unknown, but no one wanted to risk it. 

“I take it your patrol was uneventful?” he asked, one brow quirked in query.

He stood at parade rest, gold eyes gazing down at his soldiers with a dispassionate stare. His stature and physique made him imposing enough, but Valtristus also had a way of cutting a man down with only a look; never having to raise his sword. His tongue was just as biting, yet he kept his tone lax and free of venom as he questioned his soldiers. This particular trio had been giving him trouble since they set foot into his cohort, and like the dogs they were they would go belly up and simper at the slightest provocation. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“No, sir!”

The answer came in unison from all three soldiers. It was also wholly unconvincing especially considering that Valtristus could see right over their heads at what lay behind them. A miqo’te woman, blond haired and brown skinned, blue eyes staring wide and unseeing at the sky, her mouth open and catching flies drawn by the scent of a recently made corpse. She was likely from the local tribe that roamed that side of the Velodyna, and from the bow that lay just out of reach of her outstretched arm he surmised she was one of their hunters. He and his men had seen them skulking about the shadows, though they often waited until the twilight hours despite being of the diurnal breed of their race. Like as not it was to avoid his soldiers, which would have worked better for her had she not gone out so early. A pity.

“I suppose a lack of Ala Mhigan resistance has made your brains as lax as your morals,” he said as he leveled the trio with a glare. “Tell me then, did you merely happen to stumble upon a freshly killed corpse?”

Two of the three stayed still, but the last’s nervous shuffling gave them away. In one stride he was upon them, looming over them like a colossus in his polished black armor. Without his helm to hold it his hair fell about his face like curtains, framing his anger in inky shadows.

“Ten seconds,” he said. “You have ten seconds to explain your actions, including how you thought I would be foolish enough to mistake sword strokes for the marks of an antlion’s maw.”

At his side, he heard his optio sigh as a deluge of excuses poured from their mouths en masse. Just as he had expected no better from them so too had she. Snapping her heels together, she stood somehow straighter and barked an order.

“ _Tacere_! You, answer your centurio!”

The soldier in the middle--Albinus, the ringleader of the little group--stepped forward while his peers stood at attention once more. Their fear was apparent but to his credit the man’s voice was clear and steady as he did what was commanded of him. 

“Sir, she ambushed our patrol; dropped from an overhang. We assumed she was with the Ala Mhigans or the Resistance, one, and responded to the attack accordingly, sir.”

The sound of the soldier’s brass balls clanging together almost made him forget the gunshot he had heard in the distance earlier. It was that shot that had caught his attention initially. Their laughter had come secondary, later when they were but a stone’s throw from camp, which was where the woman had breathed her last. His negligence had cost her dearly, and his frown etched deeper onto his face. 

“I cannot refute your statement about your initial encounter with her because I was not there,” he replied as he stood straight once more, but rather than move away he glowered down at the trio causing Albinus to step back into line. “What I can tell you, however, is that it is clear that one look at her shows that she was with neither faction that you claim. You had ample time after your one and only shot to discern that, but still you gave chase. Why?”

“Sir, she was-”

“I did not ask for excuses, I asked you _why_ did you continue to give chase to quarry who was clearly not an enemy of Garlemald!”

The rich baritone of his voice turned into an echoing roar that silenced both the local fauna and the work at the campsite. Were his cohort not so structured he would draw an audience, but where birds stayed silent the sounds of building and general work soon resumed. His optio was still standing at attention not even having flinched at his voice. The three soldiers, however, looked fit to faint and one was literally trembling in his boots.

“ _Scioccos_ ,” he muttered under his breath before he sighed deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Stepping away from the trio, he nodded to his optio who snapped out a salute and a, “Sir?”

“Fetch three shovels and return posthaste. I shall see that these fools do not become deserters.”

“ _Quod autem illud_ ,” she responded and he chuckled as she walked away; her formality had always been endearing.

When he turned back to the trio of soldiers only Albinus still stood strong. The man to his left was still quaking while the one to his right had his shoulders hunched as if he thought he could shrink himself down and out of Valtristus’s sight. Behind them all, the miqo’te woman’s corpse was still cooling, the existence of it damning evidence. His gaze flickered over her once more, taking stock of her injuries, before he leveled the soldiers with another dispassionate stare. They thought him a fool. They would learn how wrong they were.

“Why did you continue the chase?” he asked again..

His voice was calm and steady this time, but they knew he would not ask again. The bookends looked to their leader and Albinus took a deep breath before he stepped forward again. 

“With all due respect, sir,” he began, which meant he had none, “we enlisted to aid our country in turning back would-be invaders. We did not come here to sit on our arses while a castellum was being built! ...Sir.”

‘We were thirsty for blood and so we made our own sport,’ was what Valtristus heard, and he surmised as much. The exit wound on her belly would have been fatal on its own but not instantaneously. Likely she had run toward the encampment looking for a means of escape, possibly salvation. Judging from the amount of blood pooling beneath her, and trailing somewhat behind from what he could see not blended into the dirt and rock, she had run for several hundred yalms before they finally caught her. It was when she was cornered that she had decided to fight, but why only then? There was a piece of the puzzle missing considering what he knew of miqo’te tribes, especially if she was one of their hunters as he assumed.

“Like dogs you are,” he sneered. “Not even well trained ones at that. You’re kept and fed, given tasks to keep you limber and sharp, and still you would bite the hand that feeds because you are _bored_?”

Albinus was given no time to react as Valtristus stepped forward to deliver a sharp blow to his face with the back of his gauntleted hand. The other soldiers jumped back as their companion fell to the ground spitting blood. Two pairs of eyes gazed at him with naked fear and were he a baser man he would have relished it Instead he merely gazed at them like a master disappointed in his pet; money and time wasted on training that did not take.

“Do not spit lies at me, curr. You came here because your father already had an heir and had no other way to make you useful, and so you thought to take your discontent out on those whose deaths would not see you hanged. Convenient for everyone, yes? And it would have worked for you had they given you to another centurio but you, soldier, are under _my_ command and under _my_ rules, which you knew full well when you were brought to me.” 

Too, it was readily apparent that the invasion had already been repelled. What had initially been a bid to defend the kingdom had turned into its own invasion. The fact that they were building castellums and castrums was evident of that fact. No, this was no longer a glorious mission to protect the land but a bid by Garlemald to expand its borders. It seemed Ala Mhigo’s lust for conquest was infectious and had taken hold of the powers that be in his homeland, and even a fool like Albinus could see that. No, he was no gloryhound but he was a murderer and he had dragged the other two down with him.

“Sir, the shovels.”

“Good. Dispense them, and you three. Dig”

Having gotten back on his feet, Albinus looked ready to spit fire until confusion replaced his anger. The other two had taken their shovels from his optio without a word but their confusion was just as plain. He then pointed at the miqo’te woman laying behind them then to an unoccupied patch of rocky dirt and sand. This was their mess and they were going to clean it up. Albinus, however, clearly though such things beneath him as he scoffed.

“Sir, you can’t really be serio-”

Another backhand sent him to the ground again, a tooth following him this time. 

“She was nothing, a _savage_!” the curr snarled.

A hand went around his throat then. With little effort than a coeurl lifting its kitten, Valtristus lifted Albinus so they were nose to nose. Were the little fool’s head not so far up his own arse he would know his commanding officer beyond his name. He would know that he was raised not only by his father but by the Chief Medicus of his household since he was an infant; a miqo’te man by the name of S’ean lux Menauce. The last man that had dared call his adopted parent a savage now lay indolent and dying, a victim of his own bigotry as the one person who could save him was the very man he insulted years ago. That Albinus thought he could kill someone for the mere fact that they were not possessed of a third eye went beyond simple bigotry and made him more dangerous than even an Ala Mhigan mage. 

“You would not know a savage if it stared you in the face, _boy_ ,” he sneered. 

And it did, every time the soldier looked in a mirror.

When Albinus’s lips began to turn purple he released him, ignoring him as he crumpled into a gasping heap of tangled limbs. Instead he turned to the other soldiers and pointed once more at the woman’s body.

“ _Scavare_!” he barked and they quickly obeyed.

The last of the trio was slow to follow, too busy gulping down air he did not have the right to breathe. Once he had begun his task, however, Valtristus turned to his optio who shuttered her contempt for the soldiers as she turned to him.

“I leave them in your capable hands, Letitia,” he said. “Should they attempt to flee, cut them down. Likewise if they are foolish enough to attempt to turn on their superior. I have an investigation to conduct.”

“Sir, yessir!” she replied as she snapped out a smart salute before turning both her body and full attention to the trio of soldiers. 

Leaving the soldiers and his optio behind, Valtristus retraced the steps of their assigned patrol. He eventually found the initial contact point some seven hundred or so yalms away. Kneeling next to the blood spatter he was amazed at the young woman’s tenacity and spared a moment of admiration for her grit. He had seen better armored men crumple to such wounds, but the peoples of Gyr Abania were made of tougher stuff he had found. He also noticed the absence of any overhangs in the area, though he did see a felled gazelle some fulms away with a single arrow still sticking out of its side. Another lie they had been caught in.

He made a mental note of where the beast lay--no sense in letting it go to waste--then stood to leave. Before he took a single step, however, he heard what sounded like a mewl, and he stopped. Cocking his head to the side, he tucked his hair behind his ear and listened intently. Then the sound came again, this time softer and accompanied by what sounded like...a hiccup?

“ _Merda_ …”

Quietly, he crept around the area as he attempted to discern where the sound originated. The closer he got to the felled gazelle the more frequent he heard the mewling, and once he was close enough he saw the possible origin point. It was a hollowed tree, charred and half toppled from a lightning strike and long dead because of it. As he crept closer, he could hear soft sniffles then he felt his heart seize when he spied two blond ear tips peeking over the bottom of the hole in the trunk. Now he knew why she had run them so far; she had someone to protect.

“ _Halò_ ,” he called in Ala Mhigan, and quick as a flash the ears disappeared from view.

Giving a silent nod of congratulations to the child, he waited a moment before calling out again; this time in Common.

“Hello, little one. Will you come out?”

He did not expect that his request would be answered or obeyed. The woman had likely been taking her child out for their first hunt, and the idiot trio had been loud enough to alert her to their presence before they were upon her. She likely had hidden the child in the tree with instruction not to come out for anyone but her until such a time as had been designated passed. If she had even thought that far ahead. There was no way to know, not without asking the child which left him with a conundrum.

There was a choice laid before him: did he attempt to coax the child out and ensure their safety, possibly see about returning them to their tribe, or did he leave them in hopes that their tribe would wonder what happened and come looking for them? Both options had heavy consequences should they go awry, but which was the lesser evil? Both his parents’ faces flashed in his mind and he knew the answer. That did not mean he was prepared for what it entailed, however, but doing the right thing was never easy; Justus had taught him that. And it showed in the work that his father did, ilm by painstaking ilm. 

“I am coming to you,” he said as he took a step forward, taking care to make a sound this time. “Do not be afraid, I will not harm you.”

Were he a religious man he would have prayed that the child understood him. The various peoples of Gyr Abania had almost as many languages and dialects as the plebeian districts of Garlemald’s capital and the rural areas surrounding it. Just to be sure, he repeated himself in the standard Ala Mhigan dialect he had started with. It was a mantra, repeated softly and slowly in both languages until he was finally at the tree where he knelt. His face was still above the hole in the trunk, but he was close enough for the child to see and he could make out those same blond ears and long, silky looking hair of the same color.

“Hello, little one,” he said softly, channeling old memories of S’ean from when he was a boy. “Will you come out now?”

He watched with bated breath as tremors began to wrack the child’s tiny frame. Then, slowly, one wide blue eye turned to look at him and his mouth set in a grim line. The child was the spitting image of the woman those fools-- _his_ fools, damn them--were burying. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath then willed his face into a neutral expression. He was not S’ean, he never could be, nor could he be his father. He could be kind, however, and he took off one gauntlet to extend his naked hand toward the tree.

“My name is Valtristus. What is yours?”

As before, he did not expect an answer. Yet something about him must have been agreeable to the child because he felt the smoothness of the raised pads common of miqo’te hands and feet on his fingers. Quick as they were there, though, they were gone. Valtristus smiled then, taking a small amount of pride in the child’s wariness. It would serve them well come what may. 

“...M’kael,” was the tiny response he finally received.

“Kael?” he queried, unsure if he heard the name correctly but he received no more from the little one; a boy if his knowledge of miqo’te naming conventions held true. It would do.

Then he felt those little fingerpads on his again, but this time they stayed. When he looked down he could see two eyes watching him, weighing him, and he had never felt such scrutiny. Even his drill sergeants and commanding officers had not made him nervous, but this one child suddenly sent chills down his spine. He did not understand the feeling, however he had little time to dwell on it as fingers became a whole hand in his palm--not even close to half the size of it--and, more gently than he looked capable of, he closed his long fingers around the boy’s hand and wrist. 

“Where is my sister?” he was asked by a tiny tear-filled voice and he felt a pain in his chest; but at least she was not his mother. That meant he could still have family.

“She is near my camp,” he replied, and it was the truth. “But Kael, she is not alive.”

Were they here his parents would balk at his delivery. His words were matter-of-fact, a man relaying the daily news without inflection. But they were also the truth. He would not lie to this child; he could not. And then it was time for Kael to choose.

“I can take you to her so you can say good-bye, and then I can try to get you home. Or you can stay here and wait for the rest of your family, perhaps try to find them on your own. What would you like to do?”

The boy was old enough to comprehend his choice, he could tell that much from the way his ears laid flat, sticking out at the sides of his head. He had seen the look often enough on S’ean, both when he was young and as an adult. He was worried, scared, and Valtristus could not blame him. It was a hard choice and one a child should not have to make. Which was why he quickly extricated the boy and pulled him close to his chest, holding him with one arm. He was foolish to have even given the boy an alternative; he could not leave him and still consider himself anything less than a monster.

“...Is this acceptable?” he asked, still unsure even though he had made up his mind. 

His answer came in the form of Kael pressing his face into his breastplate. The sniffling little mewls had started again, but he was given a nod of affirmation through the boy’s grief. Then he stood and began the long trek back to camp, his legs feeling as if they were made of lead while his face was a mask of pure rage. As Centurio, he had a duty to oversee his soldiers, to protect them as he was able with his decisions and his self if needs be, and to ensure they made it home one way or another. Placing two fingers to his ear, he activated the communicator that allowed him to speak to his officers and contacted his tesserarius. He issued his commands in Garlean to keep small ears deaf to his plans, and once done he remained silent until they reached the spot where he had left Letitia and the three soldiers. It was near dusk by the time they arrived.

When she saw him, his optio snapped to attention and barked for the soldiers to do the same. Her harsh tone made Kael flinch and he absently made a soothing noise before coming to a stop before the group. The trio had made short work of their assigned task. The grave had been shallow, as he knew it would be with the condition of the soil on this side of the Velodyna but so had Letitia, and she had set them to finding stones of proper size to lay over the body for a proper burial mound. He did not know if this was a common practice among the tribe she hailed from, but it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. 

“Finally you follow orders,” he said, lip curled into a sneer before he looked down at the small boy in his arm.

At his glance, the rest of the soldiers finally noticed the boy and even Albinus balked when he saw him. Letitia looked positively livid for a brief instant before she reigned in her anger. The other soldiers were drained of color once they realized the full gravity of what they had done. Even Albinus looked something close to penitent, but there would be no forgiveness; not from him.

“Would you like to say good-bye, little one?”

Little claws dug into his armor producing a high, tiny screech from the metal. Blond ears were laid flat into his hair and Valtristus could see that his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He was not ready to say good-bye. If his body language was not telling enough, the keening wail that sounded from him--so loud for such a small body--followed by the hiccuping sobs said all that needed to be said on the matter. 

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Valtristus replied softly before he turned his gaze back to the soldiers, all traces of gentleness gone from his features. “I hope that none of you have any outstanding business to take care of here. You have been vexing enough as it is. Soldiers, you are hereby discharged. You will be returned home as soon as the resulting paperwork goes through.”

Motioning to Letitia, he marched away followed swiftly by his optio who turned smartly on her heel to fall in behind him as he passed. The three soldiers watched as their commanding officers went back to camp, the wailing sobs of the found child drifting to them on the wind like a haunting song. Of all the things they had expected a clean discharge was not on the list. At best they had expected to be imprisoned and tried for war crimes. At worst they had expected to be digging their own graves next. And as they looked between themselves, wondering at their surprising fortunes, it was Albinus who laughed first. 

The other two quickly followed suit, as they had in the earlier chase, and all cares were thrown to the wind as they broke down into hysterics. As before, Valtristus heard them over the din of work that would be winding to a close in a few bells’ time. This time he ignored it, instead turning to the Tesserarius he had contacted earlier.

“ _Sparare_.”

A quick salute was given in response before the order was relayed into the communicator. The sound of bowstrings was drowned out by the engineers and aan at work, but the three soldier’s laughter was abruptly cut off signalling their immediate discharge from his cohort. Rabid hounds needed to be put down before they infected the rest of the camp, and while he took no pleasure in the deed he could not say that he was upset at issuing the order. The one regret he had was that he had not carried it out himself. After all, that was his duty as a commanding officer. However, there were more important things that required his attention.

“Letitia, procure some food for Kael and bring it to my tent, please. I have some paperwork to fill out.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, her voice gentling as she looked at the boy in his arms.

Giving a quick salute, she moved quickly to follow orders leaving Valtristus to tend to his new ward. He could not help the sigh that escaped him then. Would that Justus or S’ean were with him; they would know exactly what to do. But it was only him and the soldiers under his command, so it would have to do. For now he would console the boy as best he could. Or at least make the attempt once he was awake. 

Tears and sorrow had finally claimed him, whisking him off into slumber. Would that he could follow but, alas, he was the son of Justus het Menauce and as his father was so plagued with work there was always more for him to do. That the days to come were going to be filled with the unknown was daunting. He did not like the unknown, yet he would endure because there was nothing else to do. Until it was upon him, however, he would do what he knew and if that included filling out paperwork one handed with a sleeping child cradled against him then so it would be.


End file.
